


And all I can do is just pour some tea for two

by onvavoir



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 09:18:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8138794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onvavoir/pseuds/onvavoir
Summary: My belated contribution to Samtember, in which Sam Wilson is the one being taken care of.





	

"Worst. Birthday. _Ever_ ," Sam grumbles.

It's raining-- scratch that, it's fucking _pouring_ \-- and he suddenly regrets his impulse decision to go get coffee at the café he likes, even if it was just to cheer himself up on a day that's historically either really good or really shitty. The weather had been okay at the time, overcast, but not overtly threatening rain. Now it's a goddamn maelstrom, and Sam regrets thinking he could just handle it. No umbrella, no hat, no nothing, and if Steve was home he'd have gone there, but he's off on a mission with the sincerest of apologies and a promise to buy Sam a drink when he gets back. Bucky's place is nearby. Sam steels himself to knock on the door.

For a second he thinks Bucky's not in. The house looks dark, and Sam's about to step back out into the rain when the door opens. Bucky's eyes widen.

"Sam!"

Sam doesn't even have to ask if he can come in. Bucky grabs him by his sodden shirt and drags him inside. Ordinarily Sam would protest the manhandling, but he's soaked to the skin and starting to shiver. Bucky opens a closet and pulls out the biggest towel Sam's ever seen, wraps it around him.

"What happened? Why are you all wet?"

"It's a long story and I don't feel like telling it right now. Suffice to say, I've had kind of a shitty day."

"'Kay."

Bucky goes on rubbing Sam's arms and shoulders through the towel.

"I'll get you some dry clothes."

Sam pulls the towel more tightly around himself. He must be leaving a damp spot on the sofa, but Bucky doesn't seem at all bothered. Bucky comes back with a bundle of clothes and hands them to Sam.

"You want something hot to drink? Tea? I got hot chocolate..."

"Hot chocolate?"

Bucky bangs around in the kitchen while Sam looks over the clothes. A pair of fleece pants and a well-worn t-shirt, nothing on them. Bucky hates clothing with logos on it. Sam smiles a little. He glances over his shoulder, but Bucky's busy, and anyway, who cares. He strips off his wet jeans and boxer briefs and pulls on the sweatpants. They're a little big, Bucky-sized, hanging off Sam's hips a little. He wonders when exactly it was that Bucky put on all that mass. He remembers the Winter Soldier, who was ripped, but not huge. Bucky's thickened up since then, and Sam pushes away the thought of what he must have eaten-- or not-- as the Soldier.

The towel's damp now, so Sam takes it into the bathroom to hang it up along with his wet clothes. He comes back and pulls on the oversized hoodie Bucky brought him, deep green with a kangaroo pocket, heavy cotton. He glances at the kitchen, sidewise. Then he scrunches his shoulders up around his ears and breathes in. The hoodie smells clean but also... like Bucky, somehow. Sam looks at the floor and realises there was a pair of socks bundled in with everything else. They're ridiculously fluffy, and Sam honestly has a hard time imagining Bucky in these. Not that he's _imagining_ Bucky in the other stuff, it's just--

"Hey."

Sam turns around, tries not to look like he's been caught at something. Bucky holds out a mug, and Sam steps up to take it. The smell of chocolate rises on the air. It's hot, a little too hot, and Sam pulls the sleeves of the hoodie over his hands to hold it. Bucky smiles like he's just seen a really cute cat video-- not that he'd cop to watching those, and not that Sam would cop to watching him watch them. It's just the way his face lights up and scrunches a little, and that actually makes it worse.

"What," Sam says, defensive. "It's hot."

For a second he thinks Bucky's going to say something, but he just shakes his head.

"Where'd you put the towel?"

"Hung it up in the bathroom. I wasn't raised by wolves."

Bucky snorts. He walks around the end of the sofa, holding his own mug, and sits down. He glances up at Sam.

"You can sit down, you know. I don't bite."

"That remains to be seen."

But Sam does sit down, partly so he can more thoroughly huddle into Bucky's clothes. He's warmer now, mostly dry, but uncomfortable in a way he can't really articulate. It's not that he's scared of Bucky-- watching someone get stuck to a floor with spider webbing tends to undercut their menace-- but something's got him feeling a little itchy in his skin. Maybe it's the detergent Bucky uses.

"You okay?" Bucky asks.

"Fine. This is really good."

"You sound surprised."

Sam shrugs.

"I meant like, it's really nice. Thank you."

Bucky shrugs.

"I don't like the powdered shit."

"A man of refined tastes."

Sam quirks an eyebrow at him, and he frowns a little, like he can't tell if Sam's making fun of him.

"Seriously though, what's in this?"

He takes another long sip, now that the chocolate's not scalding, and closes his eyes.

"Chocolate," Bucky says, deadpan.

Sam gives him a dirty look. Bucky shrugs again and picks at the toe of his sock.

"It's Wakandan dark chocolate. I use half and half instead of milk. A little cinnamon and allspice. Tiny bit of chili pepper."

Now that Bucky's said it, Sam can taste it. Dark chocolate with a complex flavour. Not so spicy that you'd notice, but enough to keep it from being cloying. He didn't realise Bucky was that good with food.

"I got some soup in the freezer if you want some," Bucky mumbles.

Sam thinks about it.

"Yeah. Yeah, that might be good."

The chocolate's warmed him up enough that the hoodie feels a little too heavy. He pulls it off over his head. The t-shirt tries to come with it, and he pulls it down again. He glances at Bucky, self-conscious, and catches Bucky's eyes darting away from him. He considers whether to call a cab or borrow an umbrella or something so that he can go home. He doesn't want to make Bucky uncomfortable, and his presence clearly does. But he also kinda doesn't want to leave. Besides, Bucky offered him soup. He drinks the last of his hot chocolate, and damn but that went fast.

"You want some more?" Bucky asks.

"I... wouldn't wanna spoil dinner," he says, smiling.

"Don't worry, I'll eat anything you don't."

Bucky takes the mug from him and goes back into the kitchen. Sam watches him, frowns a little at the set of his shoulders. Is he hurt? Not that he'd admit to Sam if he was. He goes about his business in the kitchen, and Sam looks around at his apartment. Not a lot of furniture and stuff, but it's cosy enough that it doesn't seem spartan. Sam looks at the arrangement of furniture and frowns as he realises the place is laid out strategically. Small windows. Bookshelves that could be shoved in front of them. The sofa in the perfect position to be jammed up against the front door. Even the TV, an old CRT number, has to be there for a reason. Probably because it's heavy. Like dropping an anvil on somebody. Sam sighs. He wishes Bucky could just rest. Relax. Have one day where he isn't coiled up in anticipation of some attack.

"I haven't had the decorator in yet," Bucky says, and Sam snaps his head around, feeling a little guilty.

"I didn't..."

"I got eyes."

He drops back onto the sofa next to Sam, a little closer now, and why does Sam notice that? Why does it make him edgy? Bucky sets down another mug of hot chocolate, and Sam picks it up. It's almost as good as that first mouthful was. Sweet and heavy, but with enough bitterness and spice to counterweight it. Sam might have to ask him for the recipe.

"I kinda would've expected you to not have a TV," Sam says. "Steve gets all nonagenarian about it. A thousand channels and nothing on worth watching, that kinda shit."

"Steve's a pain in the ass."

Sam laughs.

"For once, we agree on something."

"Everyone can agree that Steve's a pain in the ass," Bucky says. "No, I like TV. Didn't have that back in my day."

Sam rolls his eyes.

"Well, fire hadn't been invented yet, takes time to develop technology like that."

Bucky snorts and then gives him a sideways look.

"Did you just make an old joke at me?"

"I'm just saying, pterodactyls probably didn't actually make very good antennas."

This time Bucky laughs, and the smile on his face catches Sam by surprise. Now that he thinks about it, he can probably count on one hand all the times he's seen Bucky smile like that. It's nice to see.

"Be right back, I need to stir the soup."

Sam can smell it now, chicken and a few other things, and his stomach gurgles a little. He probably ought to offer to help, even if Bucky says he's fine. What would his mother say? The thought drives a splinter into his chest, and he grimaces. He should have talked to her today. She'd have called him, if she had any way of doing so. It's better for her if she can't. He misses her terribly, especially on days like today, but the last thing he wants is for the feds and whatever's left of SHIELD to make her life hell. Bad enough he's got himself exiled. He wonders if T'Challa could get his paws on an encrypted phone, whether they could get it to Sam's mom without it being discovered. He sighs a little and looks down into his chocolate.

He can see in his peripheral vision that Bucky's looking at him. He doesn't think Bucky knows when his birthday is, although he knows Bucky's is sometime in March. Bucky probably would have made a crack about him being an old man-- although he's really the last person who has any room to make jokes like that.

Sam feels abruptly and utterly depressed. He wishes he'd stayed at home, where he could have at least been depressed in his own clothes, in his own bed, listening to music he likes. Though the hot chocolate's pretty damn good. He glances at Bucky, who averts his eyes and then gets up to go back into the kitchen. Steve would be seven different kinds of Concerned, asking what the matter is, if there's anything he can do, and generally smothering him. All things considered, Sam thinks he might prefer Bucky's way of going about it.

The clink of china from the kitchen, and a few minutes later Bucky comes walking slowly in with two frankly gigantic bowls of soup. He sets one down in front of Sam and the other in front of himself, hands Sam a spoon.

"Wow, this smells great."

He has the sneaking suspicion this did not come out of a can. He blows gently on a spoonful of it-- chicken and vegetables and wide noodles that look like they might even be homemade. It tastes even better than it smells, and Sam hums in appreciation.

"Goddamn, where'd you learn to cook?"

"Lotta places."

"You made your own stock for this, didn't you."

It's not really a question so much as a statement, and there's something charming in the way Bucky ducks his head.

"Yeah. You like it?"

He looks at Sam sidewise, maybe a little hopeful.

"Ask me when I'm finished with it," Sam says. "You better eat faster, Dr Claw, or you'll have to fight me for yours."

Bucky laughs a little.

"I'd like to see you try."

Sam finishes it off and then realizes that he's actually way too full to ask for seconds. When Bucky gets up with the bowl and wordlessly indicates, he shakes his head. He's almost too hot now, full of chicken and chocolate, and truth be told, he kinda feels like taking a nap. He thinks of his mom again and groans. He forces himself off the sofa and goes into the kitchen, where Bucky's brewing himself a cup of tea.

"Hey, can I help with the dishes?"

Bucky shakes his head and points his thumb at the dishwasher.

"Not everything about the future sucks," he says with a wry smile.

"Yeah?" Sam asks.

He leans his hip against the counter and watches Bucky put a spoonful of sugar into his tea. And another. And another.

"Goddamn, you like some tea with your sugar?"

Bucky ignores him and takes a drink. Sam watches him lift the mug to his lips and then set it down again without a sound. His eyes half-close, like he's just enjoying the warmth of it. Sam feels better just looking at him.

"So what else is good about the future?" he nudges.

Bucky thinks for a second.

"Cat videos."

He laughs a little, and Sam knows he's thinking about some specific one, and that shouldn't be as cute as it is. Bucky knows some of the famous internet cats by name, and Sam mocks him mercilessly about it. Sam calls him Grumpy Cat once in a while when he's looking particularly forlorn, and Bucky pretends to be annoyed by it.

"So, TV and cat videos. You sound like one of those articles about how awful millennials are."

Bucky rolls his eyes.

"There's other things. Technology. And people's attitudes have changed a little."

"About what?"

"Lots of things. Women are a lot more uh..."

"Liberated?" Sam suggests, tipping him a wink.

"Yeah, that's one way to put it. Civil rights and shit... just seems like a lot of people less willing to put up with bullshit just because that's the way it is. Or was."

It feels like Bucky's dancing around something, but Sam doesn't want to puncture the conversation with clumsy prodding.

"Gay marriage?" he asks.

Bucky raises his eyebrows, shakes his head a little.

"Wouldn't have guessed that. Not in a million years. It's good, though, I mean. Good that people don't have to hide that kinda thing anymore."

Sam nods.

"So-- and feel free to tell me it's none of my damn business-- but... have you... been on a date in the last couple of years?"

Bucky blushes.

"If you're trying to ask if it's been seventy years since I got laid, pal, mind your own business."

Sam holds up his hands.

"Just curious! I mean... I know Steve has trouble with it. Dating. But fuck, who doesn't. The life's not really compatible with stable relationships."

Bucky nods, but the little smile's dropped off his face. Sam's sorry he brought it up now.

"Look, if you want to be alone or something, I can go. Didn't plan on dropping in like that."

"But Steve's not home," Bucky says, and his voice is a little hoarse.

Guilt twinges in Sam's belly. Bucky's too goddamn perceptive for his own good, and now not only does he feel shitty for himself, he feels shitty for Bucky too. It's a wonder the three of them in the same room don't create some kind of cosmic singularity, a black hole of PTSD and depression and trauma.

"Hey," Sam says. "Thanks. For the food. And the clothes. I didn't know you could cook like that."

Bucky smiles again, just a little, and Sam smiles back. He wonders if Bucky would balk if he offered a hug.

"I don't have company too often," Bucky murmurs.

"But you're such a social butterfly," Sam says, and he cringes a little, hopes it doesn't sound as condescending to Bucky as it did to him.

Bucky snorts.

"I'll have you know, I was quite the man about town before the war."

"Bet you were a real ladykiller," Sam says, elbowing him.

"Not just the ladies."

Bucky smirks then, and Sam can see an echo of what he must have been like. Charming, handsome, probably cocky as fuck. The kind of guy who'd make a woman furious and still end up sleeping with her at the end of the night. And wait, not just the ladies? Huh. Sam tries to think of something to say to steer the conversation elsewhere, and comes up short.

"Anyway, it was a long time ago," Bucky says, and he takes another long drink of his tea.

The feeling Sam has that he should leave gets a little sharper.

"Okay, well. I'll get out of your hair. Thanks again."

He steps to one side, and Bucky's hand reaches out to curl around his bicep. Not hard enough to really hold him there, but enough to make him stop moving. He looks down at Bucky's hand on his arm and then back at Bucky, whose eyes are cast upward, as if he regrets doing that.

"I could stay, too. If you want."

Bucky takes a deep breath that picks up his shoulders and drops them again. Sam chews on his lip for a second. Then he gathers his courage and moves closer to Bucky to put his arms around his neck. He doesn't know if Bucky's much of a hugger, but he can't really think of anything else to do. And seriously, who doesn't like hugs? Sam pulls him in a little closer. Bucky sighs and slumps against him, and if Sam hears a sniffle, he's going to valiantly pretend that he didn't. Bucky puts his arms around Sam's waist and hugs him back. Sam squeezes a little, and Bucky does too.

For a while they just stand there in the kitchen, hugging, and that's okay. Sam hadn't really realised how much he needed a hug until just now. When he can bring himself to pull away, he steps back and looks at Bucky. He looks confused, looking down at the ground, that little frown in between his eyebrows. His eyes are slate grey in the kitchen light, and just when did Sam start assigning them colors?

"Hey..."

He's not sure what the hell to say, but something's eating at Bucky and he doesn't want Sam to go, so it's probably time to relax his policy about minding his own business. Bucky raises his eyes, and then seems to regret doing it. They widen, and he looks at Sam like he's afraid of him. Sam's never seen Bucky afraid of anything.

Then Bucky's hand comes to rest at the join of Sam's neck and shoulder. Sam can feel Bucky's thumb against his jaw, and he glances briefly in that direction. He looks back at Bucky. His expression's hardened a little into something resembling determination, and Sam thinks … _oh_ as Bucky leans in to kiss him on the mouth.

It's tentative and tender, halting, and Sam realizes it's Bucky giving him the opportunity to back away. Expecting him to run, or maybe lash out. Instead, Sam tilts his head a little and rests his hand on Bucky's hip. Bucky trembles, and for a second Sam thinks _he_ might be the one who runs. Then Bucky's tongue brushes across his lower lip, and Sam opens his mouth and pulls Bucky in tighter.

Later, in bed, wound up with Bucky, Sam slides towards the hinterlands of sleep. He feels better than he has in longer than he'd like to think about. He's pretty sure Bucky does too. They've said very little, but they didn't really need to. Sam's eyes close. He drops off, wakes up again as his leg jerks, and manages a few more seconds of conscious thought before he falls asleep to the sound of Bucky's voice.

"Happy birthday, Sam."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [this song](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/blindmelon/norain.html), which actually seems pretty apt.


End file.
